


in burning flowers

by Amber



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Non-Canonical Trans Character, Peter Lukas Made Them Do It, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Elias Bouchard, trans headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: Jon demonstrates an unexpected skill. PWP.





	in burning flowers

**Author's Note:**

> 100 words of forced to share a bed.
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply.

"Don't," says Jon sharply, before Elias has even said anything.

"It's not as though I like this any more than you do." Elias' voice is tight with displeasure.

"No?" Jon scoffs, and walks across the room, examining it curiously as he goes: it's elegantly luxurious, far nicer than his own bedroom, and yet also painfully unlived in by comparison. "I don't believe you. Binding me to you — to the Eye — seems like a victory for you."

"It is," agrees Elias. "It's good for both of us, in fact — Jon, it's keeping you _alive_." He feels the pressure of being watched between his shoulderblades and still doesn't step into the room, resistant for the first time in a long career. "The marriage isn't what bothers me."

He watches as Jon takes off his shirt, folds it neatly, his eyes drawn to old scars and the stories they remind him of rather than any particular revelation of Jon's skin. Shoes next, belt and trousers, and Elias thinks that's where he'll stop but Jon glances briefly over at him, firms his jaw, and strips entirely. He doesn't look comfortable in his nudity, wastes no time climbing into the bed so he can pull the covers around him.

"Well?" he says, annoyed. "Come on. Captain Lukas made it pretty clear some kind of consummation was necessary."

Elias still has to take a moment to adjust to seeing the Archivist in his bed — a bed he is too inhuman to really make much use of these days, but still his bed. "I don't have prophylactics," he says. "Or lubricant."

Jon blinks. "Nothing?"

"Who, exactly, would I be using them with?" Elias responds sharply, because Jon's surprise makes a lot of assumptions that he doesn't appreciate. He exhales, trying to remain composed. "I suppose I can go and purchase some. There's a corner shop near here that may still be open."

Jon gives a weak laugh and rubs his face. "No," he says, "We'll ah. We'll make do. Unless you're — are you, clean?"

"Full bill of health," Elias says, scathing, "Given that I can't get sick." But he comes into the room.

"Can you get drunk?" says Jon, more out of curiosity than anything, and then, "Actually, a drink would be very bloody welcome right now."

Elias leaves the room wordlessly, returns with an unopened bottle of very expensive whiskey that he keeps on a shelf in case an Institute sponsor decides to pay him a visit in his home. The possibility that someone might come here is what dictates the contents of most of his flat. He gives it, and two glasses, to Jon.

"Right," says Jon, blanching a little at the label, but cracking it open. "At least I know you haven't poisoned it," he reflects as he pours.

Elias is busy undressing, even though he wears his dull suit like armor and resents having to take it off in front of Jon. He leaves on his singlet and briefs and socks, and gets into bed with his Archivist, who still looks nervous and angry at having to do this and intrigued all at once. And tired. Always so tired.

That last, at least, has Elias coming a little closer, taking his glass but not drinking from it, other hand going to Jon's chin. Turns his head this way and that to study the purple smudges beneath his eyes. Thumbs that stern jaw, the rough stubble of a few days unshaven. Jon allows it only briefly, then wrenches his face away. "Don't," he says again, quieter now. "I'm perfectly fine. At least for now. Lord. Can we get on with it?"

"So enthusiastic," Elias remarks drily, puts his untouched drink on the nightstand with the bottle and watches Jon nurse his. The man wrinkles his nose after every sip, unappreciative of fine Scotch, but he makes it all the way to the bottom of the glass.

"Right," he says, very quietly, steeling himself. Puts his glass aside as well and turns to Elias, who raises an eyebrow at him. Jon flushes faintly, booze-heat and embarrassment. "Would you like me to - to finish undressing you?"

"No," says Elias, honest as stone, and Jon abruptly gets annoyed.

"I suppose I'll just die then, will I."

Elias sighs. "No. You're too important." That doesn't seem to improve Jon's mood, so Elias stops stalling and kisses him, sharp and heated, lets him burn off all his annoyance in the clash of their mouths. Jon bites at his lips, pushes forward hard. When it breaks, he's much more in Jon's space, panting a little, mouth flushed. Jon looks more affected than he would have expected, given the man's lack of prurient proclivities, but then, Elias had been quite thorough. Jon has a hand on his bicep, and when Elias brushes his mouth along his jaw he sighs softly and immediately blushes at his own noise. Elias chuckles, low.

"Shut up," says Jon. He has a fist curled in Elias' singlet, looks aside. "Do you think if I get you— wet, with my." He clears his throat. "With my mouth, this will go easier?"

"Yes," agrees Elias. "But not quite in the way you're thinking." He takes a deep, steadying breath and draws down his briefs, so Jon can see his cock nestled in soft curls. It's gummed in place, small and soft, realistic enough to pass in a urinal but certainly not a closer inspection. Peeling it off hurts and is intensely vulnerable, and a sharp-edged part of him that is always bitter about how much Jon seems to hate his job is certain that his Archivist is going to find a way to use this against him, seek out all his worst scars and reopen them.

Indeed, there's compulsion thick on Jon's tongue when he says, "How long have you—"

"Always," Elias says sharply, regardless of what the end of that sentence is. "This changes nothing. It's not as though you'd be any more attracted to a real cock."

Something unguarded suddenly flickers across Jon's face and then shutters, and Elias realizes he probably didn't know Elias knew that about him, as though Elias doesn't know everything, every last square millimeter of his Archivist. Still, it makes for some measure of mutually assured destruction, doesn't it? If they both have a kind of secret.

"You mentioned something about using your mouth?" Elias reminds him, and sits back against the pillows, parting his legs in invitation. "Unless you were planning to talk me off with those tingly questions of yours." Jon goes ruddy at that, but his eyes are drawn unerringly downwards again. Then, unexpectedly, he smirks.

"What," snaps Elias, touchy. Scared, maybe, and he can feel the purring enjoyment of their god at how vulnerable he is under Jon's scrutiny.

"It's nothing, really," says Jon, visibly smug, rearranging himself to settle between Elias' muscular thighs. It's forward, but Elias appreciates the lack of preamble. "I just happen to be, er. Somewhat. Experienced, in this department." He presses his amusement against skin, explains conspiratorially, "I had an ex who liked it."

"Glad you're feeling in your element," Elias responds crisply, and only gets more annoyed when Jon's smile turns to a scowl and he spitefully buries his face between his legs and proves, yes, he is stupidly good at this. Elias slips further and further down the headboard, groaning all wavery as he offers himself up to his Archivist's mouth. Jon doesn't just get him wet, he plays him expertly, works him up with teeth and tongue, licks down as far as his asshole so that Elias finds himself pulling his knees back to his chest to get more.

"Fingers?" he asks, mouth shining when he stops eating Elias our long enough to ask.

"Anything you want," Elias says helplessly, "Any hole you want, just don't stop."

Jon takes that as permission to use both, two fingers deep in his cunt and just the tip of his thumb pressing open Elias's ass. There's no shortage of slick now, Elias wet as Jon continues to find every single sensitive spot and explore it mercilessly, and then finally, when Elias is arched and trembling and so close, sucks his oversensitive little dick relentlessly until Elias spills loudly over the edge, heaving and spasming, fist tight in Jon's hair.

Elias sprawls in the bed, too unraveled to be properly furious at Jon for making him come. His whole spine feels liquid, and when he parts his lashes Jon is looking unblinkingly back. He still has two fingers inside Elias, shifts them but doesn't remove them. Elias grunts. "Remind me to send a thank you note to Georgina."

Jon's lips thin: at the reminder that Elias knows everything about him, at the idea of Elias reaching out to his oldest friend, probably also just at the fact that Elias is ruining the aftermath by being — well, himself. "I'm the one who just gave you an orgasm," he points out.

"I'll send a thank you note to you too," Elias says lazily, flexes his cunt around Jon's fingers more deliberately. "Now, on your back, Archivist. You're not consummated yet." Because he has no intention of allowing Jon to think he's managed to _win_ whatever this is between them. If he's going to suffer the indignities of enjoying their marriage bed, he's damn well not going to be the only one.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on twitter](https://twitter.com/tseiiot)!


End file.
